


A Gentle Warmth

by ohmytheon



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Childhood, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Insecurity, Mother-Son Relationship, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:41:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22562665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmytheon/pseuds/ohmytheon
Summary: Zuko wants more than anything to be strong like his father, but he can't help but feel like he's failing. Luckily, he's not alone. Sometimes, he forgets the subtle strength of his mother's warmth.
Relationships: Ursa & Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 50





	A Gentle Warmth

**Author's Note:**

> I've really been missing ATLA. You know what this means? Time for a rewatch!

Zuko breathes in until his lungs hurt and then breathes out. The ceiling is high in his bedroom, but it feels like there isn’t enough air in the room. In, out. His bed is just a few feet away, but he doesn’t have the energy to pull himself to his feet and clamber onto the soft mattress. In, out. His hands are shaky, warm, and sticky with sweat, overheated from the near-constant use of his bending for the last three hours. In, and out. His legs feel like jello, wobbly every time he tries to move them. In, out.

_ Weak, weak, weak. _

The words thump in his mind like a heartbeat. He pictures his father’s disappointed glare – the way he turned away from Zuko after his training session was over – and his throat constricts, dry and scratchy from dehydration. There’s a pitcher of water sitting on his nightstand, placed by their a servant, but it’s more mocking than anything else.

_ If I could waterbend, I wouldn’t need to move to get the water. _

It’s an errant thought, one he wishes he could take back almost immediately. Why would he want to be a stupid waterbender? Everyone knows that firebenders are the strongest. That’s why they were able to defeat the Air Nomads. Soon enough, the War at Ba Sing Se will be over, and they’ll have conquered the whole world.

Besides, the training isn’t so bad. He usually likes it in the beginning. He loves his bending abilities, but he wishes the flames didn’t fight against him so much. He needs to get stronger if he’s going to succeed his father. Uncle Iroh might be the heir to the throne, but that doesn’t seem to matter to his father, whose ambition can’t be outclassed.

He needs to be stronger, lest Azula take his place. Younger than him, her firebending is already powerful and more natural. Fire comes to her like breathing while Zuko struggles like he’s underwater. It isn’t fair. He’s the firstborn. He’s the heir. Their father’s abilities should’ve been passed onto him, not her.

Zuko clenches a hand in the fist at his side, but then his hand trembles too much, and he relaxes it. Better to let the exhaustion pass and then get up. At least he made it all the way to his bedroom before collapsing. He was already red in the face and panting heavily when he left the training room. If Azula found him like this, she’d never let him live it down. She’d tease him over dinner, press his buttons during playtime, mock him with snide comments.

She knows where it hurts the most, and she’s not above pricking him there. She’s more like their father than he is.

A knock on his door startles him, but before he can weakly pull himself to his feet to avoid humiliation, he hears his mother’s soft voice call out, “Zuko?”

He doesn’t want her to see him like this either (he doesn’t want to make her sad), but it’s not as bad. Swallowing through his constricted throat, he rolls over and pushes himself up into the kneeling position. “Yes?”

“Can I come in?”

He could say no. She wouldn’t push the matter if he did. It’s awfully tempting. The last thing he wants for her to see is him lying in a puddle of his sweat, snot, and tears. It’s weak. He can’t be weak. Though no one talks about it, both he and Azula know that their father wants to be more than a prince in the royal family. He can’t afford for anyone in his family to be fragile.

Zuko is stronger than this. He really is. He doesn’t need his mother to come in here and comfort him like some sort of baby.

But he wants her to, and his lack of a response is enough to tell her so.

The door cracks and slowly opens just enough for his mother to slide into his room. She’s wearing one for her more regal dresses. Perhaps she and his father have an audience with his grandfather today. Even after two children, he can’t help but think that she’s pretty. Everyone always says so. She’s kind too, gentle in a way that reminds him of candlelight and the warmth of a blanket.

She’s nothing like his father. As much as it embarrasses him sometimes, Zuko is probably more like her. Weak, soft, sensitive. He can hear his father sneering about it now.

The moment his mother sees him kneeling on the floor, concern floods her face. She shuts the door and rushes over to him, dropping to her knees somehow gracefully. “Oh, Zuko,” she says, taking his face in her hands. He still feels flushed all over, but his mother’s touch is gentle and soothing. “You pushed yourself too much today, didn’t you?”

“I’m fine,” he insists in a raspy voice.

Sensing the struggle in his voice, his mother retrieves the pitcher and pours him a glass of water. He takes it from her and greedily gulps down the water, closing his eyes at the cooling sensation in his throat, before he swallows too much and chokes. He sputters on the water, some of it dribbling down his chin and the front of his sweat-soaked shirt, and coughs roughly, aggravating his throat all over again.

“Breathe,” his mother tells him as she rubs his back. “Just breathe.”

He does so, taking in huge gulps of air until he calms down. Wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand, he hands her the glass without looking. It’s not often that he finds himself embarrassed with his mother, but when he does, it’s awful. He needs to be strong for her. He has to make his father proud, but more importantly, he has to protect her. It’s his duty as a son. He hates the fact that she spends so much time protecting him.

“I’m sorry,” Zuku mumbles, tears burning his eyes. “I didn’t mean–”

“You don’t need to apologize,” his mother cuts in, not meanly. “You did nothing wrong.”

Zuko looks up to her, confusion and hurt swirling in his eyes. “Then why does Father look at me like I have?”

His mother opens her mouth and then shuts it. She doesn’t have an answer either, and it stings viciously. She can’t argue with him, not when she knows it’s the truth. Some days, his father isn’t so bad. He’s strong, brave, and powerful, everything that fire is – everything that Zuko wants to be. People respect him. (People fear him.) Zuko can only hope that one day people will look at him like the way they do his father.

(But then his mother looks at him with fear sometimes, and Zuko doesn’t want her to look at him like that, never like that. He doesn’t know if he could take it if she did.)

“You’re still growing,” his mother settles on saying, smoothing down his sweaty hair. “Years from now, when you’re older, you’ll be stronger than even him. He’ll see that. You just…” She lets out a sigh. “It takes time for even the strongest of trees to grow.”

Zuko makes a face. “You sound like Uncle Iroh.”

A smile slips onto his mother’s face, and she pokes a finger in his side to tickle him. “Is that so bad? He’s very wise. You would do well to listen to him more often.”

“Maybe…” Zuko likes his uncle, but he’s busy with the war and he has his own son. He has a hard enough time making his father and grandfather proud; he doesn’t need to add anyone to the list. Besides, he knows that his father isn’t very fond of his brother. They’ve never been close despite his uncle’s more pleasant nature. “Mother?”

“Yes?”

“Do you…?” Zuko bites his lip, thinks to lie, and then asks anyways. “Do you think I’m weak?”

His mother gazes at him softly for a moment and then shakes her head. “No, my love, you are stronger than any of us can comprehend.” She kisses the top of his head, uncaring of the mess that he is. “You’ll show them all one day – I know it – and I can’t wait to see it.”

Allowing himself a small smile, he throws his arms around his mother’s middle and hugs her as tightly as his tired body will allow him. She’s right. He’ll prove his father, Azula, and everyone else wrong one day. And his mother will be there every step of the way, cheering him on.


End file.
